


Hush

by BringtheKaos



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Coitus Interruptus, Crowley has a penis, Crowley is OBSESSED with Aziraphale's thighs, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Intercrural Sex, M/M, Post canon, Semi-Public Sex, Sex in the Bookshop, aziraphale has a penis, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:42:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24226804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BringtheKaos/pseuds/BringtheKaos
Summary: Aziraphale deliberately gets Crowley all bothered in the bookshop. AND THERE WERE CUSTOMERS.Shenanigans (and a very bastardly angel) ensue.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley
Comments: 14
Kudos: 252





	Hush

It had progressed like any normal day. Crowley was lounging unnaturally on Aziraphale’s sofa in the back room, and the angel himself had been feeling so perky all day that he’d deigned to open the shop for a few hours.

In the past, Crowley would have buggered off to get up to some trouble in downtown London, but today... today he just wanted to marinate in Aziraphale’s happiness. It was radiating off of him like a space heater, coming in waves and waves that washed over Crowley, cleansing any hint of melancholy to be found. Not that he’d even felt a hint of the stuff for months now. So long as he was near Aziraphale, close to him... he was content.

So he stayed, sprawled like a creature of far too many vertebrae over the furniture, one of Aziraphale’s afghans half-tossed over his middle. He’d considered grabbing a book, but those waves of joy coming off Aziraphale were making his eyelids heavy and his skin warm. So he dozed a little as Aziraphale pattered about, watching customers, minding the till, stocking books.

It was all very domestic.

That is, until the angel came noisily into the back room, dropping a box of books onto his desk.

Crowley stirred, groaning as he rubbed his eyes of sleep.

“Have a nice nap, love?” Aziraphale asked with a smile, but... something was hiding in that smile. Crowley had seen it before. It was his up-to-something smile—the brows were lower and more mischievous, and the glint in his eyes sparkled like a blade in the moonlight.

Intrigued, Crowley pushed himself languidly to a sitting position, yawning and stretching his muscles as far as his damned tiny human body would let him.

And then he saw it—Aziraphale’s gaze, intense as a hawk’s, and trained on the little sliver of tummy that had just become visible when Crowley’s shirt rode up, and the blanket slid to the floor.

Not yet wholly convinced enough to make a move, though, Crowley merely settled back onto the couch with a groan.

“Yep,” he said, popping the ‘p’ and rolling his shoulders.

“Good. Good,” Aziraphale said distractedly, pulling a book from the box he’d just deposited on his desk and plopping into his chair opposite the couch.

 _Lady Chatterly’s Lover._ Ah.

Crowley squinted at the book, then at Aziraphale, who had now placed his completely unnecessary but absolutely charming reading glasses on the very tip of his nose, and was peering meticulously through them as he cracked the book open to a random page near the middle.

Well there was flag number two. Aziraphale never started _in media res._ Not with prose, anyway. Poetry, sure, the Sonnets, definitely. But novels? He read cover to cover or not at all.

Very suddenly, Crowley felt like a cobra newly popped from his basket, the charmer weaving hypnotically in front of him.

With rapt attention and lungs that forgot they should probably appear to be doing something, Crowley watched as the angel propped the book open in one hand, and rested the other on a thigh.

And just like that, time seemed to stand still; might have done, if not for the intrusion of the now horrendously loud _tick tick tick_ of the pendulum in Aziraphale’s grandfather clock.

Aziraphale hummed happily, falsely content, and turned a page. The hand he’d used to do so returned to his thigh, but this time it didn’t sit still—it began moving... sliding... _rubbing_ ever so slowly up and down his plush thigh.

Crowley knew _exactly_ what Aziraphale was up to, but was completely powerless to do anything but stare, his body still as stone and every single molecule honed in on that simple movement, enraptured.

The angel peered up at him after several long, dragging minutes, his eyes smoldering over the rim of those ridiculous glasses. He raised his hand from his thigh, brought it to his lips, licked it far more lasciviously than was strictly necessary, and used it to turn another page—all the while holding Crowley’s intent glare.

“Something I can help you with, darling?” he asked, all feigned innocence and smug satisfaction.

His hand returned to his thigh and continued its ministrations, this time a bit more to the inside, following the seam of his trousers. The seam, where the pillow of his seated thigh pressed against the fabric and sent heated, desperate images through Crowley’s brain.

A completely unbidden sound of mild desperation rose from Crowley’s gut, and he attempted to mask it by clearing his throat.

An increasingly devious smirk began _slowly_ thinning Aziraphale’s lips, and he trained his eyes back down on the book.

“No? Well, do let me know if that changes,” he said simply, lifting his leg to cross them, and _oh dear lord._ Once crossed, he flexed them to better settle himself, and the way the fabric pulled against their strength, the way his softness disappeared into a very welcoming, tight crease... it was intoxicating.

Crowley was a goner.

He was on his feet within a heartbeat, or he would have been, if he’d bothered with the ruddy thing. As it was, he didn’t think he had enough blood left in his torso to make the stupid thing beat.

“Get rid of the customers,” Crowley barked, his voice low and gruff and his eyes trained on those perfect thighs.

Completely unbothered, Aziraphale slowly closed his book and set it aside, looking up at Crowley as he loomed over him.

“But I’ve only just opened, that would be rude, my dear,” he said knowingly, lifting a hand to remove his reading glasses and place them atop _Lady Chatterly’s Lover._

And now Crowley found himself at an impasse—he knew what Aziraphale was doing, knew this dance, this delicately executed game of chess he was playing. Of course he wanted the customers out, he never _wanted_ customers to begin with. Even when he was feeling chipper enough to allow them entry, it was more out of obligation than anything.

No, Aziraphale had Crowley strung up, a hot and bothered mouse on a string, and was batting at him like the world’s most coy house cat.

So Crowley could _play,_ spew the lines Aziraphale expected of him, all the while drawing this out and torturing himself, or he could _break_ ; show Aziraphale exactly how helpless he was in the face of the angel’s tempting. It was a lose/lose, either way you spun it.

So, as usual, Crowley phoned in an option C.

“Fine, I’ll get rid of them,” he barked, raising a hand to snap and send them elsewhere, anywhere, anywhere but here.

Before he even registered the movement, Aziraphale was on his feet, crowding Crowley’s space and closing a tight fist around his hand to keep him from performing the hasty miracle.

He gave Crowley another smirk, this one beginning to simmer with sensuality, and he leaned in to speak almost silently against the shell of Crowley’s ear.

“Or you could just keep quiet,” he cooed, voice oozing lust like thick organic honey.

“Fuck,” Crowley breathed, now sporting a raging and painful hard-on behind his zipper.

Conspiratorially, he did a quick survey of the area just outside the back room, finding a single customer, entranced by a book she’d cracked open.

Crowley’s survey then migrated to the back room itself, analyzing angles and lines-of-sight with the meticulousness of fucking Galileo.

And when he found the X on that particular treasure map, he grabbed his treasure heartily and crowded him over to it; the corner of the back room just to the right of the fireplace hearth. It was a perfect 90° angle from the customer, with a short wall between them and her, and included the bonus of a small, decorative table that he could bend his angel over.

Practically ravenous, he did just that; man-handling (or demon-handling, whatever you wish to call it) Aziraphale against the table, his plump arse now positioned perfectly against Crowley’s hips. Crowley gave an experimental roll of his hips, and struggled to stifle the resulting moan as the sensitive underside of his very hard cock got just a little stimulation from the movement. Not nearly close to enough, though.

“Remember, darling. _Quiet,”_ Aziraphale whispered, his hands disappearing in front of him, followed by the pop of a button and the obscenely sexy sound of a zipper.

The angel wiggled his trousers and pants down past the plush globes of his arse, pushing back as he did so and making Crowley want to scream.

Crowley’s horrendously trembling hands flew to his own flies, popping the button open on the third try and yanking the zipper down all while Aziraphale rearranged himself more comfortably—leaning forward until his mid-thighs pressed against the table and cheek touched the wall. He started to spread his legs, but Crowley fought him, squeezing them back tightly together with a palm on the outside of each thigh. He leaned in, pressing the whole of himself to Aziraphale’s back and propping his chin on his shoulder so he could speak huskily directly into his ear.

“Just these,” he breathed, kneading his fingers into the softness of his thighs. “I want these, angel.”

Aziraphale smirked at him again, and made a show of clenching his thighs together tightly.

“Oh? Like this, darling?” he asked coquettishly, and if he’d been in any position to innocently hook a finger on his lip, he probably would have.

“Bastard,” Crowley growled, peeking back over his shoulder to the back room’s doorway, where he knew the customer to be only feet away.

Confident that she was beyond the line of sight, he turned back, desperation and arousal mixing together to pump, needy and pointed, through his veins. Quiet as a mouse, he pushed his trousers and pants down just far enough to release his achingly hard cock, which he immediately took in hand.

Ever the self-indulgent creature that he was, he gave himself a few tight, relieving strokes, then held himself steady and lined up with that beautiful, pillowy crease created by Aziraphale’s upper thighs.

Bending his knees to achieve the perfect angle, he slowly pushed the head of his cock through, the pliant flesh giving way and swallowing him up deliciously.

He pushed in slowly to ensure his hips didn’t slap against the angel’s arse, his mouth hanging open in a silent scream of ecstasy at the perfect pressure of it.

Restraint had never been among Crowley’s limited roster of virtues. At least not where Aziraphale was concerned.

So, as he pulled back, his sensitive cock head squeezed between that perfect, lush skin, he was helpless to stop the trembling in every inch of his body. He went slow; slow and steady, the drag on his furiously swollen cock nearly delirium-inducing, and Aziraphale, the bastard, caught his eye just before clenching his thighs hard around him.

The whimper that escaped was entirely involuntary, and Aziraphale tutted, even as he picked up the slack for Crowley’s stalled movement—clenching and unclenching his thighs around Crowley to create a maddening, pulsating pressure that was definitely going to drive him wild.

Aziraphale gave him a falsely sympathetic frown, almost demure. “Ah, ah, dear. I know it’s good. _So good...”_ Aziraphale whispered, still pulsating the muscles in his thighs and making Crowley twitch with need. _“But you must be quiet.”_

Crowley nodded feverishly, biting his lip hard to keep from making noise as he achingly slowly pushed back in.

But Aziraphale seemed dead-set on making Crowley fail. After only a few relieving thrusts, the angel formed a little circle with a thumb and pointer finger, and placed it tightly against his thighs, just below his balls, where Crowley’s cock was rhythmically peeking through. He made sure to catch Crowley’s cock head in it on every thrust, squeezing as he drew back to give the most sensitive parts of him an even more incredible pressure.

Crowley wanted to scream, it was so perfect. A perfect fucking torture.

Crowley leaned in, his whole chest resting against the angel’s back as he continued to move, his chin resting on Aziraphale’s shoulder. He placed his hands on the outside of Aziraphale’s thighs, gripping into them to keep himself silent.

“Angel, you’re _ah..._ you’re going to be th- _uhn..._ the death of me,” he whispered, his body beginning to really and truly shake now from holding back.

“Just a little one, I hope,” Aziraphale replied, coy as ever, and tightened that little ring made by his fingers.

The sensation of it made Crowley jerk into it, hard, seeking that delightful pressure around the swollen ridge of him, but when he did, he forced Aziraphale forward a bit, his luscious thighs hitting the table, and the table hitting the wall with a _thud._

One of Aziraphale’s hands reached around to grip at Crowley’s hip, placating.

“Shh shh, hush now, dear, I’d hate for us to have to stop...”

It rang more like a threat than an actual concern, and only made Crowley want to drill him through the wall more.

Turning his head in a little, he nipped at the angel’s earlobe, causing a jolt and a breathy gasp, before growling into his ear,

“Then stop being so bloody perfect.”

The angel chuckled through his nose to keep quiet, and with that, Crowley picked up the pace ever so slightly. He couldn’t go at the speed he wanted—no, that would be far too noisy. Skin slapping skin, groans and whimpers galore, the table slamming into the wall over and over and over. But so long as he kept from contacting the angel’s rear too hard, he could get what he needed.

It built slowly, but that only made it more intense. It was a smoldering fire in his gut that started to build and build, his cock twitching and spilling precum excitedly, lubricating those delicious, plush thighs.

That is, until the bell at the till rang out through the back room.

Crowley knew what was going to happen the moment he heard it, and arousal-induced panic made him grip painfully into the angel’s thighs, pulling at him possessively and trapping him there.

_“No, no, no, please, angel, please stay, just a little longer, I’m so close, so close, please don’t...”_

“Oh, but I _must,_ darling,” Aziraphale said, knowing but smug, and suddenly he’d spread his legs to remove that perfect, precise pressure.

Crowley groaned in frustration, not giving a damn if that stupid customer heard it, and still gave another helpless, sensation-less thrust against the now wide-open gap of angel thighs. His cock head brushed the back of Aziraphale’s balls, and the angel yelped, a hand now pushing Crowley’s hips back.

“I’ll be quick,” he said, turning to eye Crowley’s furiously swollen and red cock, glistening with precum and twitching with near-orgasmic sensation. “You’ll hold off for me, won’t you dear? There’s a love.”

The angel smirked again, and made a show of pulling his pants and trousers up over his erection, trapping it parallel to his flies. Anyone who didn’t know to look for it wouldn’t even know it was there, but to Crowley, it was a skull and crossbones, hoisted on the flagpole of a newly conquered ship. And he wasn’t sure he would make it until the angel returned.

Crowley collapsed to lean against the section of wall he’d only _just_ had his angel pinned against, as that very same angel gave him a wink, the bastard, and disappeared around the corner to cheerfully greet the waiting customer. Panting hard and trying desperately not to reach for himself, Crowley envisioned the angel, making niceties with the woman and discussing her selection, all the while sporting an impressive erection that was trapped just behind his waistband. His hips jerked at the thought, and another bead of precum oozed out to tickle down his increasingly desperate prick.

What felt like hours passed until finally, the angel’s footsteps could be heard re-entering the back room.

Crowley turned to look at him, knowing what a completely wrecked disaster of a demon he must look—trousers and pants pushed to his knees, hair mussed and sweaty, cheeks furiously red. And his cock, standing so erect it nearly touched his belly.

A look of such pure and unfiltered mischief crossed the angel’s face that Crowley actually felt a spike of fear as, torturously slowly, Aziraphale approached him.

“Now... where were we?” he asked, analyzing every inch of visible skin before he lit up, a finger in the air. “Oh yes, I was reading my book.”

With that, Aziraphale half-turned to reach for _Lady Chatterly’s Lover,_ and Crowley lost it _._

“Oh no you don’t, you unimaginable _bastard,”_ he hissed, grabbing the angel’s wrist and heartily yanking him back into the corner.

Aziraphale yelped a laugh as Crowley ripped at his clothing, pushing his trousers and pants back down in a completely manic frenzy.

“Hush, love, there’s still one more...” Aziraphale gasped, but his own excitement shown through as, before Crowley had even repositioned them, he started tugging frantically at his own cock.

“To hell with ‘em,” Crowley growled, taking himself in hand and brutally pushing back into those pillowy thighs before the angel had even clasped them together. He did so quickly, however, closing his incredibly powerful muscles around Crowley’s cock and flexing them.

Crowley stifled his groan against the angel’s back as he picked up a hurried pace, chasing that smoldering fire in his sex that immediately flared back up to an unmanageable level.

“Shit, shit, _fuck,_ angel, you’re perfect. So perfect. M’so close, angel, _ohhh,_ fuck...” he mumbled mindlessly, feeling like he was both on fire and drowning all at once, drowning in the heated, tight blanket of his angel.

“Shhh, hush, love. I know, I know. Quiet for me, love. _Come quietly,”_ Aziraphale panted, his right shoulder flexing repeatedly against Crowley’s chest as he jerked at himself.

And just to be even more perfect, or more cruel, Crowley honestly couldn’t tell the difference anymore, the angel’s other hand formed that tight ring again, and he began grasping greedily at Crowley’s cock head as it rapidly peeked through the front crease of his thighs.

Crowley knew he wasn’t going to be able to keep quiet as his pleasure crested, so he did the only conceivable thing; he opened his mouth and bit down hard on the meat of Aziraphale’s shoulder, anchoring himself through the violent spasms of his body as he came; long, heavy spurts coating the angel’s thighs and drawing out his orgasm even further.

Aziraphale let out a truly obscene, louder-than-loud moan, going completely rigid under Crowley’s gripping hands and biting teeth, and through the sudden still silence, Crowley could hear the liquid _plop plop plop_ of the angel’s spend as it hit the table he was bent over. Just the sound of it had Crowley coming again; a second, weaker orgasm plowing through him and causing him to thrust one final time through those sumptuous thighs.

Both of them let out heavy pants as they relaxed together, collapsing as one to lean against the wall behind the table and catch their breath. Worrying that he’d caused pain, Crowley quickly let his jaw go slack, pulling back to anxiously admire the saliva-soaked crescent moon shaped marks now staining the angel’s sky-blue button-down.

“S’rry, angel. Couldn’t...” his hips jerked with pleasantly spiking aftershocks, and he swallowed past a very dry throat. “Couldn’t help it.”

Aziraphale groaned, rolling his shoulder. “Quite alright, my dear. I, er...” his hips stuttered too, followed by a full-body shudder that had Crowley still fully interested. “I liked it. Rather _a lot_.”

Suddenly the little bell over the door tinkled viciously, in the way it did when someone wrenched the door open in a hurry. Complete silence followed.

Crowley backed away from Aziraphale, his own thighs shaking from the exertion as he weakly pulled his pants and trousers back up.

Aziraphale did the same, his hands trembling as he miracled away the truly beautiful mess on his thighs, and stuffed himself back into his trousers. He gave Crowley a somewhat guilty frown, eyes flashing toward the shop proper.

Crowley was having none of it. He closed the distance between them, looped a hand behind the angel’s waist, yanked him against him hard, and planted a long, passionate kiss to his lips.

“Well, angel,” he said, pulling away only far enough to speak against Aziraphale’s puffy lips. “That’s one way to get rid of customers.”

**Author's Note:**

> For those that didn't catch the reference, _la petit mort_ is French for "the little death", and since about the 1800s has meant that post-orgasm feeling.


End file.
